


Of Types and Light Shows

by 0positiv



Category: Being Human (UK), Highlander - All Media Types, Highlander: The Series
Genre: My mind comes up with the weirdest crossovers...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3722761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0positiv/pseuds/0positiv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watchers or the DoDD, who's got an easier job? Rook is getting drunk in Joe's Bar and Joe learns that there are things that go bump in the night. And Methos, being old as dirt, of course knew about them already. Now that's a story Joe just has to hear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Nothing but the silly plot is mine, all belongs to the respective owners. Please don't sue me ;)
> 
> My dear readers, this here is a crossover hence it would be useful if you knew Being Human and Highlander. Otherwise it will not make a lot of sense to you ;) 
> 
> Also lets all ignore how the timelines of those two shows would never ever work together because this is just for fun ;)

As bar man you hear all kinds of weird, or boring, or crazy, or just everyday stories. It's just part of the unofficial job description. Joe knew that and as owner, bartender, occasionally performer as well as apparently psychologist-substitute at his bar he thought he'd heard all the stories before. That was before the blond Englishman with the low tolerance for alcohol saw the tattoo on Joe's wrist while the Watcher pushed over his fourth Scotch.

 

“I know that ...ink thing. Seen it before...I have a file on you...had a file....anyway, Watcher, right?”

 

Joe cast a furtive look towards the other guests sitting at the bar. Thankfully they were rather too preoccupied with each other's mouths to pay any attention. The rest of the patrons were gathered closer to the stage to listen to the band.

 

“No idea what you're talkin' bout, buddy, got that thing when I was drunk out of my mind shortly after 'Nam. Not the faintest idea if it means anything or if it's just supposed to look cool.”

 

Joe shrugged and started cleaning glasses.

 

The foreigner wasn't so easily convinced. He pointed a rather unsteady finger at Joe and fixed him with a blue eyed stare that was rather too penetrating for someone so drunk.

 

“Oh no, no use lying to me, I _know_ what that sign means and so do you. I know all about Immortals and your little secret fan club. I work...worked...for the government. The one in Great Britain, obviously, not here.” The man lifted his glass and emptied it, spilling half of it on his slightly crumpled grey three piece suit.

 

Joe groaned and put one hand on the other's arm.

 

“I think you've had quite enough for tonight, don't you, Mister? Should I call you a taxi to take you to your hotel?”

 

The man pulled his arm out from under Joe's hand and straightened his cuffs.

 

“I'd prefer it if you did not touch me, Watcher, and I have every intention of getting even drunker.”

 

Personally Joe thought if that stick insect of a man touched even one more drop of alcohol he'd be out cold. He was barely more than skin and bones, really, compared to the likes of Duncan.

 

“Well, that's your decision, of course, buddy, but you're not doing it in my bar. Did you drive here?”

 

The Englishman shook his head.

 

“No, of course not, you drive on the wrong side of the stupid road. And I'm not your 'buddy', the name's Rook.”

 

Joe crossed his arms in front of his chest.

 

“Well, Mr. Rook, my name's Joe and I own this bar so if I say you've had enough you've had enough. You can get a coffee but no more alcohol.”

 

Rook pulled a disgusted face.

 

“I take it getting decent tea around here is out of the question?”

Joe shrugged. “It's a bar. If you want tea go to a café. But I think you really should go to your hotel and sleep this off.”

  
The other slumped on his bar stool like someone had cut his strings. He leaned his elbows on the bar  and fiddled with a stop watch he'd pulled out of his jacket pocket.

 

“I'm trying to save my job but it seems to be a fool's errant. Those stupid bureaucrats just don't see how _essential_ my department is. All they see is how much money it costs. But they will be sorry. Special Branch is completely out of their depth and on the next full moon, at the latest, they'll see what kind of monsters we're dealing with.”

 

That caught  Joe's interest. Was that guy implying what he thought he was implying? No way, there was no such thing as werewolves... was there? Most people would say there was no such thing as Immortals. 'Most people' were usually wrong in Joe's experience.

 

“Listen, Mr. Rook, don't you think you should keep a bit more quiet about your job, especially if it's government business? Doesn't seem like the kind of work one should be shouting about in a bar.”

 

Rook looked guilty for a second.

 

“Right you are, all very covert and confidential. But soon the secret will be out anyway when we're not around to hide the monsters. Be glad your organisation is privately funded, Watcher.”

 

Joe sighed and decided it was at this point rather useless to deny who he was working for. He put a glass of water in front of the drunk man hoping he'd drink it and sober up a bit

 

“I'd also appreciate if you stopped shouting about Watchers. It's supposed to be a _secret_ organisation and you never know who might be listening.”

 

The Englishman nodded taking a sip of his water.

 

 “Yes, yes, especially when all the monsters look so much like humans and  type 1's are also invisible to humans. At least your kind of monsters don't leave half eaten carcasses behind...”

 

Joe leaned forward and also rested his elbows on the bar. This way he cold talk more quietly and he hoped Rook would follow his example.

 

“You listen here, Mr. Rook. Immortals aren't monsters, they're people, they're human, they just live a little longer. I don't know what kind of beings your lot is confronted with but I won't have you insulting my friends in my own bar.”

 

Rook raise his eyebrows in surprise.

 

“Friends? You're friends with them?What ever happened to 'observe and never interfere'?”

  
Joe shrugged lazily.

 

“Some situations require you to...bend the rules a bit. And my assignment isn't a bad guy. He's helped me and I've helped him. So I take it you don't interfere either?”

 

Rook looked slightly affronted.

 

“The way you do, by making friends with them? No, of course not. 'No care, all responsibility', that's the only way to deal with the carnage that type 2s and type 3s leave behind. I could never be friends with something that rips humans apart to eat  them or drink their blood.”

  
Joe was itching to take notes on this, it was like a Watcher reflex, record everything. Types...the full moon...eating humans or drinking their blood...invisible beings. This was all starting to sound like an episode of the _Twilight Zone_...or maybe _Buffy._ Weren't there also Watchers on _Buffy_?

 

“Am I right in thinking that those 'types' you're talking about are supernaturals? You know, like werewolves?”

 

Rook nodded and finished his water. He seemed to have sobered up a bit.

 

“Your job is watching and you're telling me you have no idea that they exist? Seems we do a better job than I had thought. It's all real, Joe, the monsters are all real and if humans ever find out about them there will be war.”

 

Joe nodded. That's what would happen if they found out about immortals as well. Humanity did not deal well with those who are different and those who scare them.

 

“So you clean up after the supernaturals to keep them secret?”

 

Rook put his stop watch away and started fiddling with his pen instead.

 

“Type 2s usually are organized enough to clean up after themselves, we just deal with the messes they miss. Type 3s aren't organized at all and during the full moon they are hardly more than savage animals. So mostly we clean up their messes. Type 1s don't make much mess unless one of them turns poltergeist.”

 

Joe whistled through his teeth. Rook put the pen away again as Joe refilled his water.

 

“Cleaning up a beheading is much easier than having to comb the woods after a full moon for bodies that are sometimes scattered over miles. We once found a camper's foot at the other end of the forest from his head. The rest of the body was spread out in between. At least the parts of it that hadn't been devoured.”

 

Joe pulled a disgusted face.

 

“Too much information, Rook, way too much. But at least your guys don't create a gigantic light show that will bring every nosey neighbour, fire fighter and police man in the city to the crime scene in minutes. If our assignments are in no condition to get rid of the evidence themselves we have very little time to do it for them _and_ we have to watch out they don't see us while we do it. I'd say your job is easier.”

 

Rook glared at him with those icy eyes.

 

“Easier? Do you know how many men I've lost to type 2s? Type 3s are easily detained or avoided as soon as the moon has gone down but type 2s can always be right around the corner while we are bagging their victims. And they have absolutely no qualms about killing whoever crosses their path.”

 

Joe had been so focused on the man opposite him that he only realised someone had come up behind Rook when that someone reached over the bar for a beer bottle. Joe gave the grinning man a slap on the wrist for his troubles.

 

“No self service at the bar, Adam, especially for people who never pay their tab.”

 

Adam shot him an innocent grin.

 

“But I didn't want to disturb you and your new friend, Joe. Also I'm your buddy, I get special rights.”

 

Joe glared at him than handed him a beer.

 

“You're a pain in the arse, that's what you are.”

 

Adam smugly drank his beer and sat down on the bar stool next to Rook.

 

“But you love me anyway, Joe. Gonna introduce me to your man in grey?”

 

Rook lifted an eyebrow at that and fixed his penetrating stare on Adam who merely smiled back way too innocently. Joe cleared his throat.

 

“Adam, that's Mr. Rook, Rook, Adam. There, I introduced you, can you leave us alone now? Is Mac not around for you to annoy?”

 

Adam and Rook didn't stop their staring contest.

 

“Amanda's in town”, Adam said as if that were enough explanation. Actually, now that Joe thought about it it was. He pulled a face again. Amanda most likely was the one person whose name alone could be too much information.

 

“Oh for God's sake can you two stop with the staring? You're behaving like two territorial cats.”

 

Both pairs of eyes focused on Joe instead and he was not sure if that was an improvement.

 

Rook was fiddling with his pen again. While Adam looked like the cat that knew it would soon get the bird.

 

“I believe Joe was just about to call me a cab.”

 

The Englishman looked questioningly at the bar owner and suddenly he didn't seem drunk at all any longer. Joe grabbed his phone and called a taxi. It would be better to get those two as far apart as possible.

 

“I'll wait for it outside, good night Joe”

 

Joe waved a the retreating grey clad back while Adam played with his beer bottle with a pensive look Joe didn't like at all. Then he smirked.

 

“Seems I ruffled Mr. Rook's feathers a bit. But it's been at least 40 years since I last saw one of his lot.”

 

Joe looked at him incredulously.

 

“Ok, Adam, spill. I know you want to.”

 

Adam just leaned back against the bar with an infuriatingly smug grin.

 

“All I can say is that he's much more handsome than his father. Did you see those eyes?”

 

Joe groaned and mumbled something about shooting a certain 5000 year old pain in the arse exactly there and went back to cleaning glasses.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: As of now this fic will be a multi chapter WIP. No idea how many chapters and I can't promise I'll finish it but I'll do my best. :)

Hours later after the last patron had been shooed out the door and the band had long since left Joe was closing up the bar. Mike, his second bartender, had just left after sweeping up some broken glass and wiping down the tables. Joe pretended he did not see how Mike always made sure all the work that required kneeling or climbing on chairs was done before he left so Joe wouldn’t have to try and do it on his own. And even if it that made perfect sense it still left Joe feeling like an invalid. He may have lost his legs but he got around perfectly fine on his prosthetics and he’d be damned if he couldn’t take care of his own bar.  He needed no one’s pity or charity.

 

Adam, pain in the arse the he was, was one of the few people who never openly treated him like he was made of glass. No well meaning comments about him having been on his feet too long or offering unnecessary help. If he now and then went out of his way to accommodate Joe’s physical handicap he always did it in ways that made it hard to decide if it was accidental or planned. Given that the old guy was constantly scheming and had backup plans for his backup plans Joe was pretty sure it was never accidental. Which helped to make Joe not feel too bad about forcefully shoving the man’s feet off a table with his cane, even as it nearly sent Adam to the floor by disturbing the fragile balance of the chair he had tilted backwards on two legs.

 

The Immortal comically flapped his arms for a second before he managed to tip the chair forwards instead of backwards. After the chair legs as well as a pair of booted feet made loud contact with the floor he glared at Joe and slouched in his chair like a sullen teenager.

 

“What was that for? I nearly spilled my beer.”

 

Joe smirked and set down in a chair opposite him.

 

“Bar’s closed, and I told you to keep your shoes off my tables.”

 

Adam sighed and emptied the beer bottle before putting it down on the table.

 

“Fair enough, I guess. Are you going to kick me out now? Or can I have another beer? Out there is either boring or filled with sharp pointy sword shaped objects. I’d rather enjoy your company a little longer, if you don’t mind?”

 

Joe had to admit that for someone as old as dirt the Immortal did very convincing puppy dog eyes. He gave Adam a look that clearly said he could see through his bullshit.

 

“Who exactly are you hiding from this time and are they likely to mess up my bar if you stay here?”

 

Adam pretended to be insulted. He even went so far as to put a hand to his chest as if the question wounded him deeply.

 

“Joe, I am appalled at the kind of image you have of me. Were I hiding from someone specific I’d have left the country already.”

 

This was followed by a smirk that made Joe laugh and shake his head in exasperation. Then an idea hit him and he pulled out his notebook and pen.

 

“You’re a piece of work, my friend. But I have a deal for you. You can stay and drink my beer if you tell me how you know about Rook and his covert government department.”

 

Adam lifted an eyebrow and gestured towards the notebook.

 

“Only if none of this ends up in my chronicle. I mean it Joe, not one word. I will be checking”

 

The bar owner crossed his arms in front of his chest.

 

“You haven’t got access to the database any longer and I’ve changed my password on my computer. You can’t check or change anything so you might as well just let me take notes.”

 

The look he got for that comment was somewhere between ‘You mortals are so droll’ and ‘How dumb do you think I am?’.

 

“I didn’t mean check right now, Joe, I meant come back in 100 maybe 200 years and become a watcher again. They’ll have forgotten all about Adam Pierson by then.  It will be a walk in the park to get access to the chronicles and change what needs changing. I’ve done it before.”

 

Joe leaned forwards in a chair and pointed his pen at the other man.

 

“That’s not funny, Methos. No more messing with the Watchers or the chronicles, do you hear me? What do you think happens when you get caught again? And you _will_ get caught again because while humans may have short memories as compared to you lot the Watcher organisation won’t forget how it was made a fool of by one of the people they’re watching. You have made yourself quite a lot of enemies there.”

 

That just got a very unconcerned shrug from the immortal.

 

“In 200 years me infiltrating the Watchers will be just another anecdote they tell the new recruits at the academy, Joe. And even if you’ve still got some photographs of me hidden away in that database who would go to the trouble to check every new recruit against known immortals? Also they won’t expect me to try it again, even if you tell them I will.”

 

The ensuing staring contest between the representatives of unstoppable force and unmoveable object lasted for about a minute. Then Adam grinned smugly and added: “Of course you could always save me the trouble and danger involved in that and honour my request to not record this conversation.”

 

Joe groaned and put away the notebook. He knew when he’d been beaten and Adam, damn his selfish arse, was a master manipulator.

 

“Fine, you win, I won’t record this conversation. But you promise me you’ll stay away from the watchers, old man, and you better make it convincing.”

 

Adam made a show of drawing an X on his chest with his finger.

 

“I swear I will not infiltrate the Watchers to check if you put this conversation in my chronicle, cross my heart and hope to die. “

 

Joe lifted an eyebrow.

 

“I wasn’t born yesterday, you know? First of all, dying isn’t that much of a problem for you, you’ll get better. Secondly I see that gaping loop hole you left in that promise. I swear I will come back to haunt you if you so much as think about signing up with the Watchers ever again. You’re my friend and I don’t want you to lose your head about something so stupid.”

 

He wasn’t above doing some emotional manipulation of his own and going by the pensive look on the immortal’s face it just might work this time. Adam sighed and inclined his head in acknowledgment.

 

“Since you put it that way and since I wouldn’t want to disturb your afterlife by making you come back and haunt me I sincerely promise I will not get involved with the Watchers again. Better?”

 

The watcher thought about it for a second then nodded.

 

“Much better, thank you, because I am sure I’ll have much better things to do than haunt your pasty ass for a hundred years or so. Now, go ahead, grandpa, tell me a bedtime story of how the oldest immortal ended up being involved with all that supernatural nonsense.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is being written right now but I'm not sure when it will be done but it will obviously be flashback to how the really old guy found out about the DoDD ;)


	3. Chapter 3

 

**1953**

**Oxford** **, England**

Just when he’d thought this day couldn’t get any worse all hell broke loose and Methos found himself in the middle of an ambush on a strange group of about five men all dressed in grey suits. It was never a good idea to get between two groups in a fight so he flattened himself against the wall and tried to stay inconspicuous while looking for a way to sneak out unnoticed. _This’ll teach me to jinx things by saying ‘Surely this day can’t get any worse’_ , he thought.

 

The day had started out well enough with sunshine and birdsong as he got ready to go to university. His fairly new identity, Benjamin Preston - Ben or just Preston to his friends and fellow students - was 21 years old and studying medicine at Oxford. He was usually just in time or maybe a little late for his pre-clinical courses. Methos checked his watch. Well, that gave him about half an hour until he had to head out. He still hadn’t quite kicked the habit of his last persona who had to get up bright and early. But then in his last live he’d been a monk for about ten years before he got fed up with all the _ora et labora_ but no sex thing. The monks always had the best beer, though. Ben on the other hand was a self proclaimed hedonist and would never get up one minute earlier than he had to. He’d also prefer to spend the night in some pretty woman’s bed but he’d not been so lucky these last few nights.

 

Methos chuckled and smiled while putting the kettle on the stove to make tea. Making up personalities was half the fun of creating a new identity. The part that wasn’t so much fun was having to live in accommodations his identity could afford. And Ben couldn’t afford very much being an orphan and a student. But Methos consoled himself with the thought that as soon as he’d finished his degree he could find work as a surgeon and with better income justify a much better way of life. Just a few years, no time at all for an immortal.

 

Unless of course he had to spend that time in a flat that had unreliable hot water, dripping tabs and as of now no electricity. Methos groaned and checked the breakers. All seemed in order there so it was not a problem he could fix on his own. He’d leave a note with his landlady who lived downstairs on his way to university.

 

Without electricity he could either eat a cold breakfast without tea or buy something on the way to his courses. He checked the fridge and unsurprisingly found only beer, milk and some older leftovers he really should throw away – just as you’d expect in a student’s fridge. Breakfast on the way it was, then. He rummaged around in his cupboards until he found about half a candle stick in a holder and some matches. After lighting the candle he took it to the tiny windowless bathroom. He put it down on the side of the sink and readied his shaving kit.

 

Of course the flame decided to go out just as he was putting the blade to his cheek and he cursed colourfully in a number of dead languages as he went back to the kitchen to get the matches. When he finally had the candle lit and continued shaving he found a thin line of blood running down his cheek. He hadn’t even really felt the wound and of course it was healed by now. It still put him in a bad mood.

 

He finished his morning routine without any other mishaps but as he packed his bag he couldn’t find the books he needed for the day. He could have sworn he’d left them on the table last night but when he finally found them they were under his bed. Cursing again he threw them in the bag, hastily wrote a note to his landlady – which he had to start all over again when he was half way finished because he had realized he was writing in Ancient Greek – and dashed out the door. He was very much going to be late now and he had no time for breakfast.

 

He made it only just on time to his first class and the professor gave him a stern look over his glasses as he stumbled into the lecture hall and quickly sat down in the closest available seat. Some of his fellow students were snickering and giving him amused looks. It seems he was doing well in keeping up Ben’s reputation. The lecture started and he quickly brought out pen and paper to take notes. Of course he was out of ink. After some quiet borrowing he was finally able to start taking notes.

 

The rest of the day passed in similar fashion. His friends were already worrying if he had done something to piss off a witch and subsequently be curse or if a black cat had crossed his way today. Ben laughed with them and told them off for being too superstitious for scientists. When his courses for the day were finally over and he was headed out to dinner with a group of fellow students it of course started to rain. None of them had an umbrella. _What was that saying_ , he mused, _when it rains it pours_? That surely seemed to be the motto of this day.

 

They ran to the closest pub and stumbled inside laughing and splashing water everywhere. After taking off their dripping coats they set down to warm up with some soup and alcohol. By the time it finally stopped raining most of them were well on the way to being drunk and Ben decided he’d better call it a night if he wanted to find the way back to his flat at all. Picking up his still damp coat he left the others to their merrymaking and slipped out the door into the night.

 

He quickly oriented himself and mapped out the shortest rote back to his rooms in his head. He hoped his landlady had got the electricity fixed by now. He headed through a maze of back streets with his hand on the knife in his coat. Bringing his sword to university would surely be frowned upon but he hadn’t wanted to leave the house completely unarmed. He sometimes missed the days when it was expected of a man to carry a sword. With the way this day was going he half expected to be mugged on the way home. Or challenged.

 

But it wasn’t quite thieves he found when he absentmindedly rounded a corner and spotted two corpses on the ground and five men busy putting them into body bags. His feet carried him a few more steps into the alley before the implications of what he saw finally sank in and he stopped dead in the middle of the street. The men looked up as they heard his footsteps and he wasn’t sure whether to run or not. They all wore identical grey suits which did not exactly scream organized crime but was suspicious none the less. And people with nothing to hide usually weren’t found removing corpses in a dark alley. People removing corpses in a dark alley usually weren’t happy about witnesses.

 

When he finally decided it would be prudent to leave he found his exit blocked by two men in black pin stripe suits. Now that was more what he’d think organized crime fellows would look like. The mobsters gave him only a cursory glance then fixed their eyes on the grey clad fellows.  He thought he had stumbled on some kind of gang war and stepped back against the wall of the nearest house hoping they’d forget all about him and he could slip away during the resulting fight.

 

Suddenly from behind the men in grey two more mobsters materialized out of the darkness and subsequently attacked them by jumping on the closest opponents. _Have guns gone out of style already,_ he wondered uselessly. Two men in grey were engaged in fisticuffs with the mobsters on the ground while the others quickly stepped back and pulled out plain metal crosses of all things.

 

_Who the hell are those people? Christian mafia, the Church of Well Dressed Murder or just a bunch of lunatics with a folie à deux,_ he thought then risked a quick glance at the other two mobsters. He did a double take as he saw that they suddenly looked a lot less like common criminals and much more like something out of a penny dreadful. Their eyes were completely black and when they opened their mouth to hiss at the grey men he saw a pair of sharp fangs in each of their mouths. His cynical side rolled its eyes at the sight of two grown men _hissing_ at their enemies like a pair of alley cats.

 

And then he had no more time for cynical observations because one of those _things_ had decided he’d make a good human shield and was quickly headed his way. Pulling out his knife and keeping his back to the wall he got ready to defend himself. He stabbed at the creature as soon as it was in range but it merely took a cut to its side without flinching while stepping closer quickly and knocking the knife out of his hand. Before he could do more than try and punch it in the face the thing twisted his arm behind his back and hid itself behind his body.

 

He could feel its cold breath against his neck as it peeked around him towards the men in grey. Methos realized the other creatures seemed to have been driven away by the men in grey and three of those were now advancing on him and his captor, crosses held before them like shields. The closer they got the more laboured the breathing of his captor became and the more painful his grip on Methos’ arms. When they were just three or four steps away the creature suddenly pushed him forward to stumble into their arms as it ran away.

 

The oldest of the men in grey caught the stumbling student before he could fall and Methos found himself pinned by two cold grey eyes. “You better come with us, boy”, the man said in a tone that made clear that it was not a request but an order. The immortal only nodded and allowed them to lead him towards a waiting car.


	4. Chapter 4

The man sitting opposite him was, quintessentially, grey. From the grey suit that seemed to be some kind of uniform to his dark grey hair and beard as well as his light grey eyes not a speck of colour was to be found. Even his skin took on a greyish tinge in the harsh light of the underground bunker they had taken Methos to. If he weren’t essentially a prisoner here he could have laughed at the surreal feeling he got from watching that monochromatic being who looked as if he had stepped right out of a black and white movie.

 

And if not for the undercurrent of very real danger to his life, or at least to Ben Preston’s life, Methos would be delighted to have stumbled onto this strange new thing in the middle of Oxford. After five thousand plus years it was hard to find anything new under the same old sun, especially something new and exciting. But he would have preferred to observe this new thing from afar instead of having to remember to act like a scared student beneath that cold and indifferent stare. Ben fidgeted and nervously pulled at a loose thread on the button of his left sleeve. The man opposite him checked a pocket watch – silver-grey, very much in keeping with the rest of him – before slightly relaxing the hard lines of his face into a fake and nearly painful looking smile.

 

“They should be right back with some tea, you look like you could use something to warm you up, kid. What did you say your name was?”

 

Methos hadn’t said, mostly because he hadn’t been asked before.  No one had spoken much except for sharp and succinct orders as they had put him into their car and loaded the bodies, three now instead of two since the attackers had managed to kill one of the men in grey and wound a second one, into a waiting truck. The wounded man got on the truck as well with one of his comrades which left Methos with the man who was obviously in charge and the toughest looking one of his goons.

 

They had driven out of the city in complete silence. After a while the goon, who didn’t look particularly bright, blindfolded Methos without so much as a by-your-leave. The immortal remembered to be suitably startled and shake a little in fear just as they’d expect of a student who had just been abducted. It was not that he wasn’t appropriately wary of the situation but he was not yet quite quaking in his damp boots.  At least they hadn’t killed him right away so he thought there was a good chance Ben would get out of this alive if he played his cards right and was a good little prisoner.

 

They had led him down some stairs and into this room which was empty except for a stainless steel table and two simple chairs before taking off the blindfold. Ben had blinked at the sudden brightness and wrapping his arms around himself had tried to become as small as possible. The older man told him to have a seat so he sat and then shrunk down even more as the man in grey took the chair opposite. It was clear that they wanted Ben to be cowered and ready to agree to whatever terms they saw fit so Methos was obliging them.

 

Offering him tea was just the next step in their little play at psychological manipulation. Scaring him then making him feel grateful for what little kindness they showed him so he’d feel in their dept and more eager to please because the kindness should give him hope that all was not lost yet. It was a tactic that would have worked very well on poor little Ben so Methos played along.

 

“Ben…Benjamin Preston…um, sir.“

 

He returned the fake smile with an unsure one of his own and let his gaze flicker between the man’s eyes and the table. Holding direct eye contact would have been too much of a provocation and not very in character for the cowered prisoner he was supposed to be. The man in grey seemed pleased with the answer and very slightly relaxed his tense posture. A knock on the door announce their tea. The man said “Come” and another goon who could have been the brother of the one who brought Methos here carried in a tray. _How does he tell them apart and was looking dumb a job requirement,_ he wondered idly. Goon number two put the tray down on the table then left the room again.

 

“How do you take your tea, Ben?”

 

The grey man took the cups and their saucers from the tray and put them on the table. He lifted the milk and look at Ben with a questioningly raised eyebrow.

 

“Just milk, no sugar…sir…thank you.”

 

After the cups were filled the man pushed one towards Ben and lifted his own to his lips to take a sip. Ben reached out with shaking hands and flinched slightly as the cup clinked loudly against the saucer as he picked it up. He took a hasty sip and burned his tongue. He kept drinking anyway until the cup was empty and he could put it back down.

 

“So tell me, lad, what do you think you saw tonight?”

 

Ben swallowed and chewed his lower lip while Methos tried to figure out which answer would get him out of here the fastest.

 

“I…I saw nothing, sir, really, it was very dark and I’ve had a few beers and…nothing, I saw absolutely nothing.”

 

He very carefully did not look up at the other man as he stammered out this blatant lie then quickly let his eyes flicker upwards to gauge his reaction. The man in grey put down his own tea cup and tried to smile reassuringly. _He should practice that in front of a mirror some more_ , Methos thought, _if he wants it to be convincing_.

 

“There is no need to lie to me lad, I just want to put your mind at ease about the whole thing. I am sure it must have frightened you terribly. So, once again, what do you think you saw tonight?”

 

Ben slid down in his chair some more.

 

“I…there were bodies, and your men were attacked by some mobsters and…and you scared them away. I guess they were really religious or something. At least they didn’t like crosses much. And I guess you saved me from that one that had a hold of me, sir. I’m very grateful for that.”

 

He thought mentioning the fangs and black eyes might not go over well. And surely any child of this modern age would merely file it away as a trick of the light, as something he’d imagined. It was so much easier for Ben to explain away everything that did not fit snugly into this enlightened age than to admit that he’d seen monsters tonight. Methos on the other hand was itching for a few nights of researched into the subject. _First things first, old man. There will be no research if you don’t get out of here alive._

The man in grey nodded.

 

“Good, that’s good. More tea?”

 

He lifted the pot with a questioning look and when Ben nodded and pushed over his cup he refilled it.

 

“I understand you were under a lot of stress, Ben, and adrenaline can distort your perception of things greatly. I’ll tell you what happened: Me and my men were contracted by the police to take those bodies to the mortuary and clean up the crime scene. It’s what we do, we’re cleaners in a very basic sense. But it seems our religious friends were not very happy with us doing our job. I suspect they had a hand in the murders and wanted to get rid of the evidence. Be that as it may they attacked us and took you hostage but we managed to drive them off. As we speak one of my men is filing a report on this with the police. There is no need of course to drag you into this since you weren’t hurt and have no additional information to give the police.”

 

Ben nodded along vigorously to this outrageous lie as if he believed every word of it.

 

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir, I’d really rather not have to speak to the police if that’s ok. I just want to go home and forget any of this ever happened. And I have classes tomorrow…”

 

He nervously trailed off and concentrated on sipping his tea. _There, that should reassure him that Ben isn’t dumb and gets the subtext of ‘You are not to talk to anyone about what you have seen tonight’._ Also he actually did have classes and it helped if you did not fall asleep in them because some shadow organisation kept you prisoner all night.

 

The man in grey nodded.

 

“That’s good, kid, and I really don’t want to steal any more of your time. Just one more thing: Don’t be surprised if you see one of my men around your flat now and then. We just want to keep an eye on you and make sure those bad guys don’t come after you.”

 

Ben nodded with a relieved smile. _And you want to make sure I really don’t tell anyone, don’t you?_

 

“It was nice meeting you, Ben Preston, take care and good luck with your classes.”

 

The man in grey got up, gave Ben a firm handshake and called in goon number two to take Ben home. They most likely hoped that the relief of being released would not make Ben wonder why a glorified cleaning service would blindfold him again to keep the location of their offices secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd really like to hear if you guys like my scribblings and if you'd be interested in me continuing this silly little thing. Also, reviews feed muses, just saying ;)


	5. Chapter 5

 

At first he’s astounded how any of this could be new to him. Surely they weren’t new things, really, those monsters? Surely they had been around for a very long time. _He_ had been around for a very long time as well and yet he does not know of them.

 

_No,_ he corrects himself, _I did know of them for how else could my mind have seen the black eyes and fangs and labelled them vampire?_ But knowing is not believing. He knew the stories as well as anyone, maybe more so. The big bad monsters used for millennia to frighten children into staying close to their parents, close to the fire and the light and the deceptive safety it provided. He had been a source of such stories for one thousand years after all.

 

There had always been tales for as long as men and women got together to share them. Tales of demons and angels, of fairies and elves, of giants and dwarfs, of gods and devils, and tales of vampires. Blood drinking demons who died yet lived as long as they fed on the blood of the living. He had just always assumed that it was a legend based on his own kind. But Immortals weren’t blood drinkers – Caspian didn’t count, and really that had only been for that one decade – and they had no fear of the light of day or holy objects.

 

Yet he had always believed that the vampire legends could be traced back to mortals who witnessed the death and resurrection of an Immortal. Many first deaths might have resulted in the new Immortal rising from their own grave. The mortals then tried to explain what they witnessed and for lack of any other explanation called them demons. Over time the tales got embellished as is the fate of everything that travels along from one ear to another. After all, story tellers were the ancient equivalent of the radio and had to make their tales spectacular enough to capture their audience.

 

Yet here they were, actual vampires in the middle of Oxford, and part of organised crime apparently. And most of the humans were so completely oblivious. Of course the vampires would have learned soon enough that the best protection is if your far more numerous prey does not believe the predator to be real. No one hunts for a myth. At least not in this day and age. In less enlightened times there had of course been vampire hunts in many villages but he doubted that they caught many actual vampires. Most likely all they accomplished was to desecrate the corpses of their family members and get the vampires to move on before they were discovered. How would you tell them apart from the humans if they looked human?

 

Methos got up and got another beer from his fridge. As he walked past the window he risked a glance at the unobtrusive black car with the unobtrusive man in grey watching his window. He had to resist the temptation to smile and wave at him. Instead he sat down at the table and tried to concentrate on his books. Ben would never notice that he was being followed and watched ever since he had been dropped off at his flat two nights ago. And even should he notice he’d never be brave enough to let them know about it.

 

They were rather good at being covert, of course. They switched cars often, kept their distance, yet took note of everyone he talked to and every place he went. Which is why he had not yet dared comb the library for books about vampires and the occult. Surely they had their eyes and ears there as well, maybe they were paying the librarian to keep an eye out, or his assistant. Personally he would choose the assistant. The poor boy did not get paid much and yet he was doing most of the work. He would also be the one to know who was looking for which kind of books since he handled all the requests.

 

How long until his grey shadows were convinced Ben would not talk about everything he saw? A week? A month? A year? He thought back to the man in grey he had talked to. He had not been stupid and not inexperienced in this kind of thing. A week of constant surveillance, Methos wagered, and then maybe a month of infrequent check ups. The library on the other hand might never be save, though. If he were trying to keep vampires from coming out of the coffins, so to speak, he’d have someone in all the bigger libraries to keep an eye out for anyone showing too much interest in the subject.

 

Especially anyone whose academic career did not require studies of folk lore, which included medical students of course. Methos sighed and slouched in his chair with something very close to a pout on his face. It wasn’t a pout, of course, he did not pout unless he was trying to appear cute for an audience. But the prospect of having to wait until he had to move on and could create a character that had a legitimate reason to look into vampire tales was not an appealing one.

 

How else to acquire knowledge of vampires then? Surely he couldn’t just check the phone book for someone called “Van Helsing”. He chuckled quietly at the mental image that thought created.

 

Newspaper archives would be the next logical place. He could look for suspicious deaths. But going through old newspapers was a dreadfully dull way to spend your time and he doubted he’d find much. Both the vampires and the men in grey would do their best to keep those deaths out of the news. And Ben had no legitimate reason to go through newspaper archives anyway.

 

So he’d have to find more direct sources. Methos was sure the men in grey had some kind of archive related to their work but breaking into that would be a bit too daring for someone who wanted to stay under the radar.

 

He had no way of finding anyone else who had contact with vampires. He couldn’t very well place an add in the personals. He amused himself for a while with composing said add in his mind. “Curious student looking for shared experience with long toothed fiends”. “Fellow researcher looking for anyone with a pain in the neck”. “Jonathon Harker looking for Van Helsing”. Yes, that would surely help.

 

He shook his head and picked up his book. He had no time for this right now anyway. He had an anatomy exam in three days and that rusty knowledge would not refresh itself….

 

_Os scaphoideum, Os lunatum, Os triquetrum, Os pisiforme, Os trapezium, Os trapezoideum, Os capitatum, Os hamatum…_ When he had studied at Heidelberg a fellow student had had a nifty little poem to remember the sequence of metacarpal bones by. _“Ein Kahn, der fährt im Mondenschein im Dreieck um das Erbsenbein. Vieleck groß, Vieleck klein,der Kopf, der muss beim Haken sein.“_ The English equivalent was much shorter and less poetic but funnier, in his not so humble opinion. _“Scottish Lads Take Prostitutes To The Caledonian Hotel”_ He thought he’d heard a tale about a certain immortal Highland lad and a prostitute once that did not end well for said Highland lad…

 

He slammed the book shut with a frustrated groan. He simply couldn’t concentrate on anatomy right now. He was too distracted by this shining new mystery that was just out of his reach for various reasons. And he was itching to train with his sword but he couldn’t very well do that while he was being watched either. Ben was not even supposed to know which end of a sword to hold on to let alone how to use one to decapitate people.

 

Would vampires die from decapitation, he wondered. _Well, most things die if you cut off their heads so why shouldn’t vampires?_ He could try and find himself a vampire to answer all those nagging questions he had but just how was he supposed to do that? It’s not like he could just run around at night with a sign around his neck that read “Bite me”.  Or could he…?


	6. Chapter 6

**Present Day**

The first thing that caught Joe’s eye as he came out of his office the next evening was a blond head over a grey suit. Rook was back and nursing a drink at the bar. The second thing that caught his eye made Joe hurry towards the bar as fast as he could because no way in hell would he leave Rook alone with Adam who had just come through the door. The Immortal hadn’t seen them yet but Joe was sure it would only be a matter of time.

 

When his eyes finally fell on Rook the grin on Adam’s face was just short of predatory, Joe thought, and it made him frown. He greeted Mike and shooed him off to the other side of the bar before turning towards Mr. Rook with a big grin.

 

“Welcome back, it seems my little bar is to your liking? Is it the music, the alcohol or the great company that brought you back tonight?”

 

The wry smile Rook gave him to acknowledge his banter and the still mostly full glass of whiskey in front of the Englishman showed Joe that he wasn’t drunk yet.

 

“Good evening, Joe. I’ll have you know that both my headache this morning and my conscience would not have allowed me to come back for the rather excellent alcohol alone. I must apologize for my behaviour last night.”

 

Joe shrugged and smiled at the younger man.

 

“Don’t worry about it too much. No harm done. And if one member of a secret organisation can’t talk to another than who can? Your secret’s as save with me as mine is with you.”

 

That brought a small relieved smile to Rook’s much too grim face. Of course Adam chose that moment to lean against the bar next to Rook and smile a big grin at both men.

 

“Hey Joe, hey Joe’s grey friend, fancy seeing you here.”

 

Rook lifted an eyebrow.

 

“Good evening, Mr…Adam, was it? I take it you are a regular patron here?”

 

Joe put a beer down in front of the Immortal and glared at him.

 

“He’s more of a thorn in my side than a patron. Sooner or later I’ll have to make him clean glasses to work off that bar tab he’s never paying.”

 

Adam just took a sip of his beer and looked fondly at Joe.

 

“You’d miss me if I didn’t come and steal your beer, Joe, admit it. After all, who else would you pump for old anecdotes then?”

 

Joe made a shooing gesture with the hand not holding his cane.

 

“Off with you, you vagabond. The times when you could pay in a bar with stories alone are long over.”

 

Rook watched their interaction with curiosity. These two men clearly knew each other well and despite their words were fond of each other. Yet there was more to them than the obvious. There seemed to be a double meaning to a lot of their conversation.

 

“If you don’t mind me asking, how do you two know each other? Work, by any chance?”

 

Joe’s smirk showed clearly that he had picked up on Rook’s suspicions.

 

“Oh, yes, Adam use to be a colleague, but he got fired.”

 

Adam gasped at Joe’s words in mock outrage.

 

“Fired? I did not get fired. I… well, I’d say it was more like I quit but not quite voluntarily.”

 

Joe laughed. Rook tried to catch a glimpse of Adam’s wrists but the sleeves of the other man’s coat were quite successfully hiding any tattoo that might or might not be there.

 

“I see his being let go from this job is a sore point”, the Englishman said with a small grin. “I also did not think your kind of work did fire people. It seems to be more of a…um, long term commitment?”

 

“They don’t, usually, they expect kind of a live long contract, but as with many things Adam made them bend the rules a little. Special circumstances and all that.”

 

Adam looked rather too smug at that, Joe thought.

 

“Shall we stop pussyfooting around now? All this cloak and dagger is giving me a headache. Yes, I used to be a Watcher, no, I’m not one now. And I doubt they are very happy with me about any of that. But c’est la vie.”

 

If this blatant admission shocked Rook he didn’t show it. He merely nodded like someone whose suspicions had just been confirmed.

 

“And how is the monster hiding business going these days?”

 

Adam’s unexpected question nearly made Rook spit out his whiskey. He swallowed quickly and coughed as he nearly chocked on the alcohol.

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

The look he shot Joe was cold enough to freeze hell. Joe lifted his hands in a defensive gesture.

 

“Hey, don’t look at me, I didn’t tell him a thing. He already knew.”

 

The ice eyes turned on Adam who, unsurprisingly, seemed completely unaffected.

 

“What exactly do you know and how did you come by this knowledge, Mr. Adam?”

 

The Immortal finished his beer and put the bottle down on the bar. He shrugged nonchalantly and affected his best harmless researcher look.

 

“Oh, just that you’re the ones who sweep all the things that go bump in the night under a big grey carpet. Admirable work, really, and dangerous work as well. I had a bit of a run in with your world a while back. It is all rather fascinating, I think. But the lack of reliable information on the subject can be so very frustrating. And stop with the Mr, it’s just Adam.”

 

Rook sighed and emptied his glass.

 

“You might find that sooner rather than later there will be rather a lot of publicly available information on the subject. My department is being dissolved. Budget cuts will be responsible for humans finding out about all the monsters hiding in their midst. It will not be pretty, I am sure.”

 

For the first time since he had joined their conversation the grin vanished from Adam’s face as he realized the seriousness of Rook’s situation.

 

“They’ve fired you? Are they mad? People aren’t ready to learn about supernaturals. It will be utter chaos, witch hunts, the Spanish Inquisition 2.0. And when they know about supernaturals how long will it be until they find out about Immortals, too? This is not good, not good at all.”

 

Joe was a bit surprised at Adam’s reaction. Surely he didn’t think that people would suddenly start believing in vampires and werewolves just because Rook and his men weren’t there to help hide that other world any longer? No one believed in monsters nowadays.

 

Rook’s icy glare had softened when he realized that Adam was as aware of the consequences as he himself was.

 

“I am doing everything in my power to prevent this catastrophe, I assure you. But it seems that there is nothing more I can do. I have been all together too good at my job. I made it seem easy and my department unnecessary. Now the Home Secretary thinks Special Branch can take over but they will be completely out of their depth. They don’t have the training or the experience necessary.”

 

Adam put a comforting hand on one grey clad shoulder and leaned in with a conspiratory look on his face.

 

“It seems to me some plotting is needed here and as it were I am rather good at that.”

 

Joe groaned audibly. What was the old man getting them into now?


	7. Chapter 7

**1953**

**Oxford, England**

 

Curiosity killed the cat, they say. Well, in this case it might kill Immortals just as dead as felines. _Good thing I also have nine lives,_ Methos thought with a wry grin, _or maybe closer to 900._ He might just need some of those if he went out to look for vampires.

 

After two weeks he had finally found himself without a grey clad shadow every minute of every day. They had been more persistent than he had thought but finally they seemed to be convinced that Ben Preston was no danger to their mission. It was a bigger relieve than he had expected to finally be able to at least step out of his Ben Preston persona in his own home.

 

It also made concentrating on his courses much easier. He had barely passed his anatomy exams and that was saying a lot since anatomy really hadn’t changed all that much since he’d last studied medicine. Now the only thing still distracting him was this frustrating lack of information on his long toothed friends.

 

He needed to draw them out and have a nice little chat with one of them, he thought. But first he needed to acquire protection. Crosses seemed to have been very effective against those vampires who had attacked the men in grey. He did remember that the legends said something about silver and stakes through the heart as well. He bought a nice silver rosary at a jeweller’s then went to the nearest Catholic church and asked the priest to bless it in exchange for a sizeable donation.

 

Armed with that, his sword, a dagger or two and a few sharpened pieces of wood Methos went to the pub. He spent a merry evening with some fellow students, drank a few beers, then set out alone to walk home on the same route he’d taken when he had stumbled upon the men in grey.

 

He made sure to seem slightly unsteady on his feet, stopping now and then to lean against the wall as if the world were spinning and he needed to catch his balance. _There, as good as wearing a big sign that reads ‘Easy prey right here’,_ he thought smugly. Now he just had to run into someone who was looking for prey. _Tyger, Tyger burning bright…I guess that would make me the goat._ He remembered observing a village hunting for a man eating tiger when he had last been in India. Big cats were a fascinating sight but not so very clever sometimes. Hopefully the vampires weren’t either and would fall for this bait just as the tiger had.

 

He was half way home when he realized that he was being followed. He deliberately stepped into the darkest street he could find – he made sure it was not a dead end, of course - and waited for them to catch up with him. He saw two shadows following him, he thought, as he leaned against the wall again while pulling out one of the stakes and hiding it against the folds of his coat. Quicker than he’d expected one of them was upon him and pushed him against the wall with his hands grabbing the lapels of Methos’ coat.

 

“Well, well, what do we have here? Don’t I know you”, the vampire drawled while pinning him painfully. He was not trying to hide what he was, most likely trying to frighten his prey before killing him. The black eyes and fanged mouth were leering at Methos and the vampires leaned closer.

 

“I do think we have met, yes, though it’s harder to recognise you when you are not cowardly hiding behind me”, Methos replied with a smirk of his own.

 

His confident tone of voice confused the vampire and made him draw back slightly _. That and the pressure he should feel from something wooden and pointy right about now._ Methos had brought the point of the stake up rest against his attacker’s body, just below his ribs on the left side, the pressure just enough to be felt but not yet do any damage. One strong push and he could shove the piece of wood upwards through skin, muscles and diaphragm right into the heart.

 

The second vampire was drawing closer now, coming to investigate what took his comrade so long, no doubt. The first one’s eyes flickered between the way out of the alley and Methos face, trying to decide if he could make a run for it or if there was a way to disarm his prey-turned-attacker.

 

“Send the other one away and I might not kill you just now”, Methos whispered while reinforcing his point with a painful push on the stake. He grabbed the vampire’s jacket with his other hand to keep him from running.

 

“Go ahead, Charles, I’ll catch up with you later”, the trapped vampire shouted without taking his eyes off Methos.

 

With a grunt and a wave the second dark figure vanished around the corner.

 

“Very good. Now, how about you answer some questions for me, my toothy friend?”

 

Methos smiled wolfishly at his captive as he quickly manoeuvred them around so that the vampire was standing with his back against the wall. It was slightly unnerving to stare into those completely black eyes, he found. No wonder they were thought to be demons without souls with eyes like that.

 

“I’m not answering any questions, arsehole”, the vampire growled. “And you can’t make me.”

 

Methos chuckled. “I can’t make you? Seems to me like I’m the one who decides if you live to see another night or not, little bat, so do not tempt me.” He let go of the vampire’s jacket and pulled out a dagger. In one smooth motion he buried the blade in the other man’s side, most likely piercing his liver.

 

The vampire gasped in pain and tried to pull away but stopped as his movement brought the stake closer to piercing his skin. _Caught between a stake and a knife,_ Methos thought with dark amusement.

 

The relieved smile that suddenly appeared on the vampire’s face clued Methos in to the possibility of trouble even before he heard running footsteps approaching their position.

 

“Reinforcements, I take it?”

 

The vampire just started laughing as Methos pulled his dagger out of the other’s body and stepped back.  He was not laughing any longer when he suddenly found the stake shoved up and into the left ventricle of his heart.

 

Methos nearly forgot about running away as the vampire and his clothes slowly turned to grey dust right in front of his eyes. The shocked expression frozen on the monster’s face was nearly comical. _Well, he did answer one question at least. Stakes to the heart actually do work. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust._

 

Just as three dark shapes came around the corner Methos took off at a run. He wagered he should have enough of a head start to be able to lose them in those back alleys unless they could run faster than humans. _Seems I’m going to get that question answered as well, then._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go, my dear readers, another chapter. I'd very much appreciate it if you could tell me if the characters become too ooc at any point, or if the plot gets to ludicrous, or the jokes too bad. ;) any kind of constructive criticism is welcome. And thank you for reading :)


	8. Chapter 8

As it turned out they did run quite a bit faster than him. As he felt them gaining on him Methos stopped behind the corner of a house and drew his sword. Just going around two more corners would bring them to a much busier street than this one and he’d rather not draw any more attention to himself. _And being chased and eventually caught by The Three Stooges is bound to draw a lot of attention,_ he thought with a wry smile. _Let alone fighting them off with  a really big sword…_

 

He listened closely to the advancing footsteps. It seemed like his pursuers were so single-mindedly focused on catching up to him they forgot about being cautious. Surprisingly – or maybe not all that surprisingly – there was no sound of laboured breathing. He himself had to concentrate very hard to get his own breathing under control lest it alert the others to his presence. Maybe the stories were true and vampires did not breathe at all. How did they talk if they didn’t breathe? Were they indeed walking corpses? _I doubt they’ll hold still and let me check for a pulse. And I didn’t bring my stethoscope anyway…_

 

The first one practically impaled himself on Methos’ raised sword as he rounded the corner and collided with the Immortal. Stepping back and pulling out his sword with one smooth motion Methos bough himself enough room to find out that beheading indeed did kill vampires.

 

His other two attackers became a lot more cautious as their comrade blew away on a sharp breeze. He raised his sword and smiled at them apologetically.

 

“Oops, I hope you weren’t too attached to him…or the other one at that.”

 

The vampires didn’t answer him. _No one is any fun these days. And no one has a sense of humour any longer,_ he thought with a sigh. _Where have the times gone when taunting your opponent was as much part of your tactic as your fighting style? Kronos must be so disappointed these days…_

One of them pulled out a knife that while being rather big looked very inadequate when compared to a sword. _Charles,_ Methos thought, _the other guy called him Charles._ But then most likely Charles wasn’t his actual name and that’s what had given it all away and brought the cavalry down on Methos. _Clever monsters or I’m merely getting sloppy in my old age._

They both advanced on him simultaneously while stepping away from each other to catch him between them. He quickly pulled out his dagger and threw it at Not-Charles before turning around and bringing up his sword to drive off the second vampire.

 

Not-Charles dropped his own knife and staggered backwards a few steps as the dagger buried itself in the right side of his chest. Methos slashed at the other vampire again only to have him jump backwards and out of his reach. He had to finish this fast or they would just wear him down until he made a mistake. _Like lions ganging up on much larger prey._

 

He feinted a blow to the right and as his opponent predictably jumped to the left to avoid it Methos let the weight of his blade and his momentum carry him around in a 360° turn that brought him close enough to his opponent to guide his still swinging sword upwards and neatly cut through the vampire’s neck.

 

As another pile of dust joined the first one Methos turned his attention back to the last remaining vampire. Not-Charles had by now pulled out the dagger from his chest, picked up his own knife again and, looking quite a bit worse for wear, was evaluating his chances of taking on the Immortal on his own. Apparently even armed with two knifes he found his chances slime to non existent because with a glare and a snarl he turned tail and vanished a little unsteadily around the corner. _And the little shit stole my dagger, too…_

 

Methos sheathed his sword again and at a light jog left the darker alleys behind for the deceptive safety of more populated streets. He quickly made his way home while keeping an eye out for any one who might be watching or following him. He saw no one and fell down exhausted in his arm chair as soon as he had locked his door behind him.

 

He had been lucky tonight. Had any of the vampires carried a gun or had there been more of them he’d have been in real trouble. Even though he had got answers to quite a few of his questions in the last few hours it had not been worth the risk. At least that’s what he was trying very hard to convince his annoyingly curious mind of. One of these days one of his scientific obsessions would cost him dearly.

 

_Are you getting suicidal, old man? Being rash and stupid will get you killed permanently._ He pushed a hand through his hair and found that he was shaking slightly. He wanted a beer but not quite trusting his legs yet he remained where he was and tried to relax. He was safe, for now, and no one had followed him home.

 

Pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration he let out a weary sigh. What had he been thinking? _Had_ he been thinking? In which messed up world would going out to hunt for vampires on your own without sufficient information on the enemy be a good idea? _It was sloppy and stupid. I’ve let all this civilisation and enlightenment lure me into a false sense of safety,_ he realized.

 

In the old days when everyone carried a sword and killing was as natural as breathing he’d have never done anything so foolish. But in this day and age humans had gone soft and were – individually at least – a much more peaceful species. _He_ had gone soft, too, and had stopped looking at everyone as a possible enemy, seizing them up as a possible opponent.

 

But there were still wolves among all those sheep even if they hid very well. And those wolves had his scent now. Surely Not-Charles had gone crawling right back to who ever was in charge and told them about the mad man with a sword who ambushed them. Even if they had not followed him tonight he was sure that sooner or later they would be able to find him. And if they did he had better be prepared. Maybe some more crosses would look good on his walls and wasn’t there something about salt across the doorway keeping out evil…? He wished he had paid better attention to all those silly legends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fear I am not all that good at writing fight/action scenes. Please, valued readers, do let me know if this (admittedly short) fight scenes was understandable or if I've messed it up ;)


	9. Chapter 9

Being knocked unconscious might not give him a concussion but the resulting headache was still annoying. Methos also didn’t enjoy the feeling of being tied to a chair. And to finish his list of things making his current position uncomfortable being slapped in the face, repeatedly, aggravated his headache and made him one grumpy Immortal.

 

Not that the situation of being someone’s prisoner usually filled him with happiness but they could at least try to make him comfortable.

 

“I think that’s quite enough, Fergus. Do you want to knock him out again”, a clearly amused male voice asked.

 

Methos blinked painfully against the bright light in the room and tried to force his eyes to focus on the two blurry forms in front of him. One was standing and one was sitting in a chair opposite him. Slowly the standing form swam into focus and he realized it was the vampire he had jokingly called Not-Charles. Seems he was actually called Fergus. Methos thought Not-Charles would be preferable.

 

Fergus grunted as he let his arm, which had been ready to backhand Methos again, fall down to his side and took a step back. It was not quite reassuring that the hand of said arm then came to rest on the hilt of a knife. Taking a silent inventory Methos found that he himself had been quite thoroughly searched and relieved of his coat, jacked, waistcoat and his assorted knives and gun. He also seemed to be tied up very efficiently and securely.

 

  _Not that my weapons did me much good this afternoon._ If it was still this afternoon. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious and the room he found himself in now had no window.  It was really more of a cell, he thought, complete with heavy door and chains on the wall. There even was some straw on the floor. The only thing spoiling the medieval charm was the electric light instead of blazing torches. How could he have been so stupid to allow anyone to surprise him and knock him out?

 

But he had not really expected to be in any danger from the vampires during the day time. Wasn’t that one thing the legends all agreed on? That vampires only hunted by night? _Well, guess I learned something new again. I would have preferred to have learned that in a less painful and dangerous way, though._

He had foolishly thought himself save walking home in daylight on a moderately busy street. But then a car had stopped next to him and Not-Charles – _Fergus, his name’s Fergus –_ had jumped out. He had been too surprised to do anything but stand there and by the time his stupid head had finally decided it would be good to run another vampire had come out of the car and knocked him unconscious with a blow to the head.

 

It seems vampires who looked like mobsters had no qualms about abducting someone in broad daylight and with lots of witnesses. Who’d have thought? Not that he would have taken Fergus for the brightest flame in the chandelier. He was very much a soldier, not a leader.

 

The other man Methos found himself facing now though had all the arrogance and poise of someone in charge. He was dressed and groomed perfectly which kind of made him seem a bit like a store manikin. He sat on the flimsy wooden chair like it was a throne. Back straight, head held high, his eyes looking with amusement and clear intelligence at his prisoner. In his hands he held Methos’ gun. _Oh joy, I’m going to get killed with my own weapon. One may consider the irony._

Methos shook his head in annoyance as his hair, which had been slicked back before, fell into his eyes. _I will always prefer times where male fashion includes really short hair. Much less hassle._

 

“So that is the man who killed three of your men? With a sword?”

 

The disbelieve was very clear in leader-man’s voice as he looked Methos up and down. What he found did not seem to add up to ‘Swordsman’ for him and he gazed questioningly at Fergus.

 

“It is him, my lord, I swear. He may not look like much but he fought like a warrior.”

 

The leader held Fergus’ gaze for a second longer before returning his eyes to his prisoner. ‘ _My lord’,_ Methos wondered idly, _doesn’t really go well with the whole Mafia image they have going on._ Methos lowered his eyes and slipped back into his Ben persona. Maybe if he could convince the leader that he really couldn’t be the guy who went about killing vampires with a sword he might get out of here with his head still attached. It was a good thing that he had not been carrying said sword when they abducted him.

 

“What’s your name”, leader guy asked him.

 

Methos hesitated for a second as if he were afraid to tell him. Then he whispered “Ben” in as scared a voice as he could manage.

 

The leader smiled. “Ben, I do not take kindly to someone killing my men. We really can’t let that go unpunished now, can we?”

 

Ben looked up with panicked eyes. “I didn’t kill anyone, I swear, you’ve got the wrong man. I’m a medical student, I don’t kill people.” Methos tried to put as much righteous indignation into that sentence as he could manage.

 

The leader just smiled smugly. “A harmless medical student who just happens to be carrying a small arsenal of weapons? Highly unlikely.”

 

To emphasise his point leader-guy waved Methos’ gun at him. He was clearly enjoying this far too much.

 

Methos decided that he might just as well give up on the whole harmless act. He needed a different tactic. Letting Ben slip away he slouched in the chair as far as his bonds would allow and smiled back the leader with as much arrogance as he could muster.

 

“Bravo, you got me. I’m not all that harmless. That still doesn’t mean I killed your men.”

 

Fergus’ hand tightened on the knife. It seemed he did not enjoy being called a liar.

 

“If Fergus says you are the one who killed them I believe him. He knows better than to lie to me. He also has a good memory for faces.”

 

Methos smirked. “Does he? I tell you I did not kill your men. Did you find a sword on me? No, because I don’t have one. Who carries a sword anyway? That’s so medieval.”

 

Taking a step forward Fergus glared at Methos. “He’s lying, Lord Hal, he must have left the sword at home. I can make him admit it, if you want?”

 

Fergus pulled out his knife and pressed it against Methos’ neck. This, of course, made the Immortal even more uncomfortable. What was it with nasty people putting blades to his neck?

 

Leader guy – who was called Hal, apparently – shook his head. “Leave him be for now, Fergus. No need to result to violence just yet. It’s still three weeks to the next full moon.”

 

Fergus stepped back again with a glare at Methos that promised him a very painful death. Hal got up from his chair and Fergus hurried to open the door for him like a good little minion.

 

Hal looked at Methos with a smile that clearly showed how much he enjoyed playing with his food.

 

“I am sure we’ll get to know each other better over the following weeks, Ben. For now I have other matters to attend to. I am sure you will excuse the accommodations.”

 

Methos sneered. “Oh, I don’t know, I’d at least expect a bed. And room service.”

 

Hal laughed and pocketed the gun. “Oh, I like it when they have some fire.”

 

Then Methos found himself alone. _Bloody fantastic, prisoner of Lord Hal and his merry band of murderers. Now what do I do?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :) So, now we have Hal and Fergus, too. As always, kind readers, please do let me know if I mess up the characters too much ;) any review is welcome because reviews feed the muses.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold, an update. I am sorry it took so long but my muses seem to have taken a vacation...again. I swear, they take so much time off work I really should fire them. Good help is so hard to get these days....  
> I do hope someone is still reading this ^^''

**Present day**

Since Adam without so much as a “by your leave” had commandeered Joe’s office and shooed Rook inside the bar owner grabbed a bottle of whiskey and three glasses then followed them. At least Adam hadn’t stolen his chair as well. Joe sat down behind his desk with a sigh. He had been on his feet too long and sitting down felt heavenly.

 

“Any particular reason you’re inviting my patrons into my office, Adam?”

 

Joe lifted an eyebrow. Adam merely shrugged and slouched farther down in his chair.

 

“I merely thought covert business should better be talked about in the back room. Isn’t that usually how those things are handled? They do it on TV all the time.”

 

He grinned at the Watcher and pushed the third chair closer towards Rook, who still hadn’t sat down.

 

Rook looked around the room for a moment, most likely looking for surveillance equipment, and only sat down when he seemed to have satisfied himself that they weren’t being recorded in any way.

 

“And what type of covert business in particular did you wish to discuss, Adam? Mine or yours?”

 

Adam merely grinned in answer to Rook’s question. Then he gave Rook his best I’m-just-a-mild-mannered-grad-student-look and said: “Mine? What kind of covert business could I have? I’m not a Watcher anymore, remember?”

 

Neither Joe nor Rook were fool for even a second.

 

“Adam, your ulterior motives have ulterior motives and you never just volunteer to help.”

 

He shot Joe a hurt look.

 

“Joe, how many times have I saved your arse? And lets not forget about Amy’s shapely behind which I also saved. I do occasionally help, if I can’t get out of it.”

 

He smirked as Joe shot him a stern look, the type only a father can manage while warning a man off his daughter.

 

“Exactly, _if_ _you can’t get out of it._ So clearly you must think that helping Rook will help you in some way.”

 

Adam pushed a pen around on the table.

 

“Well, I might be hoping that I could take a peek at that archive of his…if I help him keep it.”

 

He looked up at Rook through his lashes. “How about it, Mr. Rook?”

 

Rook seemed not the slightest bit impressed.

 

“Completely out of the question. No one outside of the department has access to those records. And most of them have been carted off to storage anyway.”

 

Adam nodded. “But if I can help you to make them give you back your job they’d return all the files. Hey, you could even hire me, then I’d officially be allowed to look through your archive.”

 

He looked very happy about this particular idea.

 

“Grey isn’t your colour, buddy”, Joe said with a smirk. “It would make you look old.”

 

Adam exaggeratedly looked down at his clothes.

 

“You think? Hey, that might be a good thing. People at university keep telling me that I am much too young to work there. I think one student actually said, and I quote, ‘You look about 12’.”

 

Rook lifted a pale eyebrow and took a closer look at Adam. He did see their point. It was hard to tell the man’s age from looking at him since depending on facial expression and the way he held himself he could be anything from 18 to 30 years of age.

 

Rook did not trust him in the slightest. Adam clearly was a man who was very aware of the way his outward image influenced people and he was using it to his advantage. He did not seem above implementing puppy dog eyes to get what he wanted. Or threatened someone with a gun, if the need arose.

 

“As you could perhaps figure out for yourself my department is not currently hiring. Mostly because of the _tiny_ issue of it being dissolved.”

 

The sarcasm was not lost on either of his companions.

 

“I did mean you should hire me _after_ I helped you save your department. Do try to keep up, Rook.”

 

Joe opened the whiskey and poured himself a glass. He didn’t really need a drink but he’d rather his fingers were busy with the bottle than with hitting a certain annoying immortal over the head with his cane. _Ha, now wouldn’t that be something for his chronicle? Irritated Watcher gave Methos a concussion with his cane._ Joe hid his grin behind his glass while he amused himself by coming up with some very embarrassing scenarios he could threaten to put in Methos’ chronicle the next time the old guy misbehaved.

 

Rook seemed to be contemplating whether to take Adam up on his offer or shoot him. Going by the sour look on his face he did seem in favour of shooting him.

 

“I know nothing about you, Adam, apart from being a friend of Joe’s and an Ex-Watcher, which in itself makes you hardly seem like the most reliable person. If they did not want to keep you why should I believe you have the ability to help me?”

 

“Mostly because of the reason they did not want to keep me. They couldn’t really have an Immortal working at their little headquarters, now could they? And they might have been slightly mad at me for making them look like fools by recruiting me in the first place.”

 

Adam looked much too happy about that. And about the look of disbelieve on Rook’s face. The man in grey turned towards Joe.

 

“ _He’s_ an immortal? And the Watchers _hired_ him? That would be like me hiring a Type 2.”

 

Joe merely shrugged. “He’s very good at blending in and his background held up. Short of cutting him they had no way of knowing he was an immortal. Oh, that reminds me, new recruits will all be slightly mad at you, Adam, because now they _do_ cut them before they are allowed to join.”

 

Adam merely chuckled.

 

“Somehow I don’t quite believe you there, Joe. Not even the Watchers would go that far.”

 

“Wouldn’t they? It’s a very efficient way of making sure no other immortals sneak in. Or that you don’t sneak in _again_. I might have been the one who suggested that little safety measure.”

 

The immortal lifted an imaginary hat off his head. “Touché, Joe, I must admit that I hoped no one would ever consider that idea.”

 

Rook watched their interaction curiously. How could those two be friends when their friendship was based on a lie? Curious, very curious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was wondering why the Watchers never even thought of the possibility that an Immortal might know of them and sneak in with the new recruits. But surely after the whole Adam Pierson fiasco they'd make sure it couldn't happen again? Just my little piece of head canon ;)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I do apologise for taking ages to update this but my muses were not really cooperating with me on writing this fic. But there is a new chapter now, I hope it doesn't suck too badly ^^'

About two hours after Hal had left Fergus returned with two other rather big, muscular and dumb looking men. They fixed a long chain to a hook in the wall and fastened the two manacles at the end around his ankles. Only then did Fergus untie him from the chair.

 

“Are you that scared of me, Fergus?”

 

Methos smirked but didn’t move from the chair.

 

Fergus merely waved his friends over. They grabbed the chair and pulled it out from under him so that Methos found himself rather ungracefully on his backside. The floor was slightly damp and not at all clean. He pulled a disgusted face.

 

“Is this any way to treat your guests? I shall have a word with your boss.”

 

Fergus and his lackeys just laughed.

 

“Oh yes, Lord Hal will have quite a few words with you before we watch the dog tear you to shreds. He likes talking to the prisoners for some reason.”

 

Methos didn’t much like the sound of that…at all. Tearing to shreds usually involved decapitation which he’d rather avoid for obvious reasons.

 

“Um…when you say dog I take it you don’t mean a tiny lap dog?”

 

Fergus just smirked and sauntered out of the cell, leaving Tweedldumb and Tweedledumber to lock him back in. And they even took the chair, just to be bloody minded.

 

_Well done, old man, now how will you get out off this nice little bit of trouble?_

He pulled experimentally on the chains and inspected the locking mechanism. He was fairly sure he could open the manacles if he had lock picks or even a stupid hair pin. But of course, not being a woman, he had no hair pins and he didn’t make a habit of carrying around lock picks. Well, not in this persona anyway. There had been a really interesting few years when he’d tried his hand at being a burglar…

 

_Focus, Methos, this is no time for reminiscing about past achievements...or other more good looking burglars beating you to the best heists. I do wonder what Amanda is doing these days…_

He shook himself out of that distracting train of thought and pushed himself to his feet. He found the chain to be just long enough to let him get within about two feet of the door and explore all the rest of the cell. Not that he found anything useful during this exploration but it was worth a try.

 

Just when he had resorted to being as obnoxious and loud as he could be by shouting for food and entertainment at the top of his voice while rattling his chain he heard a key turning in the door.

 

The door opened outwards, he noticed, so no chance of even trying to somehow get that key still stuck in the lock.

 

A slightly dishevelled looking man carried in a tray with a bowl, a slice of bread and a jug of water on it. He didn’t look at all happy to be playing waiter and grumbled under his breath about feeding the prisoners not being part of his job description.

 

“Hi there”, Methos said cheerfully. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

 

The man blinked and looked up at him like he had only just realised that there was actually a person in this cell. Maybe the other prisoners never spoke to him..?

 

“No, we have not, and I don’t actually want to meet you.”

 

The man put down the tray and pushed it closer to Methos while carefully staying out of his reach.

 

Methos leaned forward and pulled at face at the disgusting looking slime they tried to pass off as food.

 

“Ick, I’m not eating that. Looks like a science experiment instead of food.”

 

The moody looking little fellow just shrugged.

 

“Eat it or go hungry, it’s not my problem. But you won’t get anything else.”

 

Picking up the slice of bread and finding it dry and stale Methos sighed.

 

“You guys really suck at hospitality.”

 

He smiled at his pun and grinned at his visitor.

 

“Get it? You _suck._ ”

 

When the other guy didn’t even crack a smile Methos pouted.

 

“Oh, come on, that was funny.”

 

Someone, it sounded suspiciously like Fergus, shouted something like _Stop playing with the human and get your arse back here, Cutler_ and Methos visitor sent a heated glare towards the door.

 

“One of these days, Fergus, I’ll shove a stake right up your…”, he mumbled before remembering he had an audience.

 

“So, Cutler, is it? Nice to meet you, my name’s Ben. And I would much appreciate it if you shoved a stake into any place in Fergus’ body. Him and I don’t get along.”

 

Methos smiled at the other man and winked conspiratorially. Might as well try and get one of them on his side. One never knows what use it could be. And since this Cutler person seemed to be very unhappy with the current management he might be able to use that resentment to his advantage.

 

Cutler’s mouth moved into a tiny smile despite himself.

 

“I fear that won’t happen. Hal likes him, for some unfathomable reason, so we all have to put up with him.”

 

“So, Hal’s like your boss, right? And Fergus is his guy for the stupid jobs. So what are you doing here?”

 

Cutler shrugged.

 

“I’m a solicitor. I take care of legal matters. And whatever else Hal tells me to do.”

 

He didn’t look particularly happy about that, Methos thought.

 

“Been vampire long”, he asked in as conversational a tone as he could manage.

 

Cutler just blinked at him with disbelieve.

 

“Either you are trying to flirt with me or you aren’t quite right in the head, I can’t really decide which.”

 

Methos just shrugged with a disarming smile.

 

“Hey, just trying to be friendly to the only intelligent company I’ve seen around here so far. Fergus and his lot still communicate in grunts and drag their arms along the floor.”

 

That got a chuckle from Cutler and seemed to lighten his mood momentarily.

 

Speaking of the Neanderthal, Fergus chose that moment to shout again ( _Cutler, any time this century!)_ and Cutler seemed to realize he was getting way too chummy with a prisoner and just turned around and scurried out the door without even saying good bye.

 

After the door was locked again Methos poked moodily at the excuse for food and tried to find an angle from which to best get Cutler on his side. Surely he could somehow use that hatred for Fergus to his advantage…?


End file.
